


It Could Be Little, Like Me

by pondsandbeyond



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dragons, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Spoilers, mentions of rape/abuse/etc., rhaegal's still alive fuck it, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-03-29 11:09:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19018693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pondsandbeyond/pseuds/pondsandbeyond
Summary: "My loyalties are only as divided as long as you two are."Daenerys travels to Winterfell to work out the North's independence, and a fitting punishment for Tyrion freeing Jaime.Diverges from canon, fixes things post 8x05.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. This has been a lovely outlet for me and I hope that you enjoy. The first few chapters are rather short but they get longer as the story develops.

Tyrion felt the first bead of sweat run down his spine. His tunic stuck to his skin, each of his micro movements resulted in the fabric peeling and re-sticking. His clothing was made for Northern winters, not endless waiting in the hot sun in King’s Landing. The awning in the center of the Dragon Pit didn’t provide as much relief as one would have thought. 

Ser Davos, Tyrion, and Jon sat solemnly, staring ahead at the expanse of red dirt in front of them, each in their reverie as they awaited the end of the Great War. The fighting had ceased on the ground. The bells had rung. The Golden Company and the Lannisters had surrendered, which the Northern men and Unsullied accepted. After the final bell rang, a hush came over the city, followed by a thunderous crash. In the distance, the Red Keep had started smoking; no one on the ground knew if it was from Dragon fire or Wildfire. 

If Cersei survived, Tyrion thought, he’d be sentenced to death instantly. Cersei would at long last kill her baby brother. He wondered how she’d do it. By The Mountain’s hand? By a crossbow? Poison? He was sure it would be cruel, regardless. If Daenerys survived, her efforts would be redirected to resolving this pesky parentage problem with Jon and unfortunately turning on the North. On second thought, he probably wouldn't live to see that. Before the battle, he had freed Jaime from his cell, and he was sure that if Daenerys lived, he'd be sentenced to death instantly for treason. Unquestionably, by Dragon fire. 

So he sat in the hot sun, his brow beading with sweat, waiting to see which woman would appear and deliver his death sentence. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a screech that could only belong to Drogon, and a shadow circled the arena. The great beast landed in front of the three waiting men and surviving army, stirring up dust in his wake. Drogon bent his head lower and let out a roar, swinging his head back and forth. He was never one for a subtle entrance. 

Climbing down from his back was the silver-haired Queen; Clutched in his talons was a golden-haired body. 

The Unsullied in line behind the awning pounded their spears in unison. The Dothraki stood at attention, steadying their horses. The three men stood up to greet their Queen.

Tyrion took a deep breath. Death by dragon fire it was then. 

Drogon gently dropped Cersei’s body into the dirt and flew up to perch on the edge of the arena, surveying the city he helped his mother claim.

Daenerys walked forward, with long strides, a smile on her face and her back perfectly straight. She looked regal, even with streaks of ash smeared against her cheekbones. 

“The Iron Throne is mine.” Pride colored her voice. Her eyes lit up, reveling in the truth of a statement she had so long believed. 

A few joyful tears spilled onto her face at that moment. Her happiness was palpable. She had finally claimed what was hers. The moment of pure joy she allowed herself was fleeting, before getting back to the matters at hand. 

She hardened her jaw and continued. “Drogon and I burned the Red Keep. In the rubble, we found a deceased Jaime Lannister clutching a dagger, and Cersei’s heart punctured,” gesturing to Cersei’s limp form in the center of the pit, paces behind her.

Tyrion moved his eyes from his Queen’s face and onto his sister’s body for the first time. He had avoided looking at it too closely, but now he saw the red stain discoloring her dress at her breast. He should have guessed when he saw she was unburnt. 

Daenerys continued the rest of her speech, but it sounded muddled to Tyrion as his head swirled. He had trouble pulling air into his lungs. His beloved brother was dead. His Queen had killed him. He was the sole Lannister now. The last Lannister. The Great War could be over. Jon was the rightful heir. The North still wanted independence. He betrayed Daenerys by freeing Jaime. He would be put on trial for treason. He would die. He let out a shaky breath, trying to collect himself, and tried to listen to Daenerys’s words. 

“We have won the Great War. The Wheel has been broken.” Wild cheers followed. “While the Red Keep is restored and readied for my residence, I ride for Winterfell. There, my children will be reunited, and we last put an end to any last disputes and traitors.

At the last word, Daenerys looks at Tyrion for the first time since her entrance. Her eyes bore into his, shaking him to his core. 

“Our victory will be secured once and for all.”


	2. II

Jon had assured him that he wasn’t entirely imprisoned. But the lock on the outside of his carriage, and the eight Unsullied dedicated to overseeing him certainly felt more like a prison than protection. 

Daenerys had decided to ride with them, giving a victory tour through Westeros and Drogon a chance to feed. They had been on the King’s Road for twenty-two days, but Tyrion’s fate was no more apparent to him than it was in the Dragon Pit. His Queen had not spoken a single word to him. No one had – Varys was gone, Jon had not come to visit him, and his Unsullied guards weren’t known as great conversationalists. 

It had left him a lot of time to absorb what had happened and what was to come. 

Tyrion had watched as Daenerys devolved into a shell of herself. She had seen the Dothraki perish and Jorah die defending her in the Battle of Winterfell. She was forced to watch Missandei executed by Cersei. Her lover challenged her claim to the throne, and her advisors had betrayed her. Even the strongest of people have a breaking point, and Tyrion had feared Daenerys was approaching hers. 

She had started barking orders and stopped listening to anyone’s council. During the feast, he had noticed she was disengaged. If she wasn’t with Drogon and Rhaegal, she had been holed up in her chambers. She’d purposely withheld battle plan information from Tyrion. She had left Rhaegal at Winterfell to heal, but Tyrion suspected that it was not a sign of restraint, but instead a way to ensure she could be avenged if the North tried to double-cross her. He had been terrified that between all that she had suffered and her ability to wage destruction, she’d choose to go as mad as her father had.

But she hadn’t. She had heeded Jon and Tyrion’s council in refusing to burn the citizens of King’s Landing after the bells had rung. She had gone after the Red Keep, yes, unwilling to let Cersei live, but could anyone fault her for that? 

Tyrion knew Daenerys was strong, but he was continually surprised by her strength. He didn’t allow herself to succumb to madness and continued to fight for what was hers righteously. 

It made her more even match with Jon now. Both were Targaryen heirs to the throne, both moral and just in their rulings. Daenerys had the power of Essos, her dragons, and most importantly, herself. Jon had the overwhelming support of the North, the Vale, and most likely the rest of Westeros. 

If they married, which wouldn’t be the worst case of incest Westeros had ever seen, they might balance each other. Jon would temper her worst impulses, and Daenerys would add some fire to his bleak Northern soul. 

As much as he denied it to himself, seeds of doubt still held root in Tyrion’s mind. He was not sure if Daenerys would even allow Jon to live. Killing him would end the parentage dispute once and for all. Did anyone but the eight of them even know? Would it matter if he never challenged her claim? 

The same could not be said for the Lady of Winterfell. Tyrion feared there was only one possible outcome between the two women, and he could not bear it.

When Tyrion’s mind wandered to Sansa, his breaths would shorten, and his stomach would knot. His mind insisted on supplying him memories of her long auburn plaits trailing around her shoulder, her blue eyes meeting his from across the Great Hall. Flashbacks of the crypts assaulted him - of her trembling hand against his, of her breaths slowing as they started to match the rhythm of his heartbeat, of all the unspoken words on her lips. 

During the first few days of the journey, he reveled in his memories of her. As time passed, the truth sunk in that recollection is all he would ever have of her again. Even if he miraculously wasn’t deemed a traitor and put to death, he’d return to King’s Landing with his Queen. Without any wine to numb these depressing thoughts, he tried to push Sansa out of his mind as much as possible. 

He’d have to let thoughts of her return to his mind soon enough though. 

He’d been curled up on the seat of the carriage when the steady rocking changed rhythm. They must be on a new road, he thought. Blinking slowly and propping himself up on his elbow, he peered out the only window in the carriage. His breath had fogged up the glass, and he rubbed it off with his sleeve. 

They had arrived in Winterfell once more.


	3. III

Tyrion felt the carriage stop and heard the lock unclick. He stretched to his full length and straightened his shoulders. He took a deep breath, bracing for the cold air of the North to assault his skin. The massive doors swung open. Light flooded the cabin. The last sunlight of the day glimmered off the snow, illuminating the courtyard in a warm yellow hue. Magic hour was upon them. 

By the time horses parked the carriage inside the gates, and his door had been opened, Jon and Daenerys’s initial greetings were already taking place. Arya, Ser Brienne, Lord Royce, Bran, and a host of older bearded men stood in the courtyard, welcoming their guests. In the center was the Lady of Winterfell, exchanging a laugh with Jon.

Tyrion’s drank in the sight of her. Her red hair was delicately braided to keep out her face, forming a halo as the waning sun cast its golden light. A genuine smile graced her face, and the cold of the North gave her a natural pink in her cheeks. She kept her shoulders back and her neck long, as majestic as ever. She was a picture of elegance. Draped in her black coat and furs, she was more glorious than his memory had supplied him. 

His mouth opened slightly, his jaw slacked. His chest tightened, and he suddenly felt far warmer than he should have in the North. 

Sansa turned her attention away from Jon and locked eyes with him as he stepped out of the carriage. Nearly imperceptibly, her eyes widened, eyebrows creeping towards her forehead. Her breath hitched, and just the corners of her mouth curled up. She blinked slowly once, eyes turning downcast and smiling to herself for just a moment before she masked her emotions again, and turned back to converse with Dragon Queen. 

He crossed the courtyard to Jon’s side, praying that even though he couldn’t feel his legs, he wasn’t giving himself away. 

“My lord.” Sansa’s voice punctured the air. Perhaps it was his imagination, but it didn’t sound so icy as it had when they’d arrived in Winterfell the first time. 

Tyrion looked up, meeting her gaze. So close to her, he became engulfed blue of her eyes. Her face was neutral to an outside observer, but her eyes held a glint in them only meant for him to see. 

He was aware that he should look at the other people in front of him - acknowledge them in some polite manner, a smile, anything really - but he couldn’t drag his eyes away from hers. When he finally did, he found Daenerys staring at him, cocking her eyebrow questioningly before turning away again. 

“Your Grace,” Sansa resumed. “Please settle in for the night. Your chambers have been prepared to your liking.” 

“I appreciate your hospitality. It has been a long ride. With the realm finally at peace,” Daenerys said through tight lips, shooting a warning look at Sansa, “I see no problem in holding off on business until tomorrow.” 

“Agreed.” Sansa nodded curtly as she concurred. 

Suddenly, a wind swept over the courtyard, and last of the sun was snuffed out in an instant.

“My child.” Daenerys beamed, taking in the sight of Rhaegal above them. He had healed. Even from the ground, one could see the tear in the wing was gone, and his body was no longer emaciated. 

At that, the Queen and Jon followed the maester toward the North Gate, where they’d reunite with Rhaegal. Ayra and Bran left, and the Unsullied made their preparations for the night. The Northerners dispersed, getting back to work around the castle. 

Tyrion took in his surroundings. The changes to Winterfell were evident. Walls were littered with pits in the bricks, scars from the battle. Chunks were missing from doors, some patched with mismatched stone and some left unrepaired. The roof on the well gone, and the spiral stairs winding around the library tower had been demolished.

“We’re making progress,” Sansa remarked at Tyrion’s visible surveillance. "It's slow, but it's progress."

He looks up at her, heart beating a little faster than he’d like to admit. She was just talking to him; he shouldn’t be so affected by it. 

“That’s all that counts, my lady.” He breathed. 

Her eyes soften, the icy blue of her eyes melting. “I’m glad that to see you survived.” 

“Me too, Sansa.” 

Her gloved hand was right there, so easily within reach. He almost took it, pressed his lips to her knuckles once more, but he spent a beat too long contemplating before she turned away without another word. Her black furs and cloak trailed behind her as she glided towards the Great Keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the map of Winterfell I used for reference. If anyone knows the creator to credit please let me know. https://i.pinimg.com/originals/39/bf/34/39bf340f657edb04693985fa6fe1ecd8.jpg


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of Rape/Abuse/Etc.

Sansa stared up at the draping canopy above her bed. She tried to count all the silvery embroidered wolves she could make out in the curtains. Ten…. Eleven… Twelve. Had she counted that one before? Again. One… two…. Three… 

She let out a frustrated sigh and turned over on her side for the sixth time that night, curling her arm underneath her pillow. Her furs were smoothed over, her softest nightgown covered her, but it wasn’t any use. Her mind would not let her body rest, no matter how comfortable she attempted to be. 

The following morning she would have to fight for the North's independence, and no matter how hard she tried to settle her thoughts, her mind kept supplying new aspects she would have to negotiate if her quest for independence failed. Agriculture quotas. Armor stocks. Grain stores. The dwindling supplies to rebuild Winterfell. 

Tossing to the other side, she closed her eyes and wished her father were here to guide her the next day; she wished her mother were here to tell her a story until she fell asleep. A book would tire her eyes and settle her mind for sure. It was a pity that the few she usually kept in her chamber had been moved during the battle for safekeeping. But a quick trip to the library would be perfectly fine; she convinced herself. What could the maids whisper about if she was seen in the middle of the night anyway? That she was on a late-night quest for knowledge? It was only the truth.

At that thought, she forfeited any further attempt to will herself to sleep. Swinging her feet from underneath her furs, she sat up and lit the candle at her bedside table.

She had started to wrap herself in her thick fur when she remembered that the staircase that snaked around the library had been destroyed. What usually would have been a quick crossing through the courtyard and up the stairs would now have to be a detour through the armory and guesthouse passages. Sansa pinched her eyes in frustration and discarded her dense fur in exchange for a lighter house cloak instead. It would be more respectable for the Lady of the house to don a proper dress, but her stealth library mission was to help her fall asleep quicker, not complicate her night with corset ties and heavy skirts. 

She slipped out of her chamber door and padded her way down the hall. The tiny flame she carried made the shadows of the castle dance, as she stole around the guesthouse and stood upon the library’s door. The door had a notoriously loud creak, but only if one opened it too wide. She pushed it just far apart so she could slink through and gently closed it behind her. 

The library had grown to be one of Sansa’s favorite spots in Winterfell. She hadn’t been much of a reader as a child, but her mother would tell her all sorts of tales as they embroidered together. After Catlyn’s passing, Sansa had turned to books for the same comfort her mother’s stories had provided. 

The Winterfell library was expansive. Books lined the tower walls from floor to ceiling, interrupted only by alcoves of stained glass windows and cushioned seats beneath them. In the center was a small spiral staircase leading to the top of the tower, where countless maesters had sat hunched at the table, pouring over scrolls. The main level contained rows upon rows of books. As a child, Sansa felt like they were infinite, especially when Arya would steal something of her’s and she’d have to chase her around the stacks to get it back. 

The library’s aroma of paper and ink greeted Sansa as she entered. Promptly lighting one of the torches near the door, she tiptoed toward the shelf of fictional histories. Any book would do, just one that could occupy her mind until she fell asleep. She ran her fingers over the spines, carefully illuminating their titles with her torch. There. “The Wolf in White Harbor.” She’d read it several times over already, but she didn't think she'd ever tire of the story.

Her midnight escapade went without a hitch until the glimmer of a flame in between the shelves caught her eye. Bewildered and frozen, she stared until she glimpsed the fire again. Cautiously, she slid out from between the freestanding shelves and moved back along the tower walls. Indeed, there was a torch glowing peacefully next to one of the stain glass windows, its light illuminating its owner. 

Tyrion. Sleeping soundly on the window seat. 

Once over the initial shock of stumbling across another soul at this hour, Sansa took in the sight of him. 

He stretched his legs parallel to the window, back to the alcove wall. As if he was basking in the moonlight, his head tilted back against the stone. His fingers lay lightly on the cover of the novel, resting in his lap. His chest rose and fell in a languid rhythm, accompanied by soft snores. Sleep had smoothed out the harsh lines of his forehead and the diagonal stroke of his scar. As Sansa looked at his peaceful figure, she couldn’t help but think how beautiful he was. She had never noticed how long his eyelashes were, casting shadows on his cheeks. When had his curls become such a deep golden hue? Had his mouth always had such a gentle curve to it? 

Sansa watched as Tyrion’s eyebrows furrow slightly, a low whine escaping his throat accompanied by a twist of his neck. He was still asleep as he contorted his shoulder, readjusting. The movement was enough to cause her to blush; embarrassed he would have caught her staring had he opened his eyes. 

She should do something other than continue to look at him, she thought. She could easily slip out of the library with him none the wiser. Or… she could be a good host and make sure that her guest finds his bedchambers, which surely would be more comfortable than being propped up against a wall stone. Yes, that would be the right thing to do, she decided. With her mind made up, she placed her torch next to his. 

Gently, she took his hand in hers and gave it a light squeeze. His impossibly long eyelashes fluttered, and she squeezed again. 

"Tyrion," she breathed. 

His eyes snapped open, meeting hers. 

“Sansa!!” He exclaimed. He scrambled on the windowsill, letting go of her hand and sitting up a little straighter.

“I’m … I’m sorry for startling you, my lord. I just happened… I just thought you’d prefer to spend the rest of your night in your chambers.” 

Tyrion took a deep breath, his eyes glancing around the room, processing where he was. 

“I must have fallen asleep reading."

“Yes, I surmised that much” Sansa chuckled lightly. 

He curled his hand into a fist and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He blinked as if his lids were weighted and turned to look at her again. In his exhausted state, he looked her up and down, taking in who exactly was in front of him. 

At that, she remembered she was only in her nightgown and a thin cloak. The neck of her slip revealed the delicate dips of her collarbones and was dangerously close to the curves of her chest. She looked down at the floor and wrapped herself tighter in her cloak. She hoped the darkness would conceal how red her face must have been. 

“What are you doing here?” Tyrion faltered, slightly embarrassed himself as he dragged his eyes from her body. 

“I couldn’t sleep. I thought that if maybe I read, I’d fall asleep easier.” Sansa admits. 

“Ah, well, that worked for me.” 

“My apologies for waking you. I just thought you would be more comfortable in a bed than on a window sill.” 

“Now I’m not quite sure about that. The North’s chambers are just as cold as stone.” He teased, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. 

“My lord!” Sansa feigned indignation. “Are the guest chambers not to your liking? Must the hearth be kept as hot as the Dothraki sea to please you?” She couldn’t help but smile at him. 

“I’m not that demanding. As hot as Dorne would be just fine.” 

She let out a soft chuckle. His eyes glinted in the firelight, warm and familiar. She hadn’t shared a laugh with anyone who wasn’t her family in so long. It almost felt surreal that she was sharing it with him - that after everything, he was here at all. 

“I’m glad that you’ve returned to Winterfell, Tyrion.” The words tumbled out.

“I fear I won’t be here much longer, my lady.” The smile gracing his face changed into something a bit gloomier. 

She nodded in response, letting out a long breath. Jon had mentioned that Tyrion had freed Jaime during the Great War, leaving Daenerys to contemplate the moral consequences he should face. He had betrayed her orders, but it had ultimately resulted in Cersei’s death. As far as Jon knew, Daenerys still hadn’t decided if he would be tried for treason. 

“The Dragon Queen has let you live this long. Perhaps it is a sign of mercy. If she has any.” Sansa did not mean for it to come out as bitter as it did. 

“Sansa…” Tyrion pleaded. “I know that she’s caused you great distress. I know that you see her as a threat to your family and your people, but she is not what you think. She’s been shipped off to cities, abused by countless men, manipulated as if she was a fool, and lost innumerable people in her life. She’s had every reason, and opportunity, to burn the world to ashes but she’s chosen to make the world a better place.” He leaned forward. “She is very much like another strong woman I’ve come to know.” 

Sansa’s cheeks burned at the compliment. She could have argued his logic, but she was tired, and she needed to save the fight for tomorrow. Instead, her tongue slipped before she had a chance to think about what she was saying. 

“And here I was hopeful that freeing Jaime meant your loyalties had shifted,” echoing their conversation in the crypts. 

“I… My lady… I…” He faltered, needing a moment to recover. “My loyalties are only divided as long as you two are.” 

He resigned from continuing, moving his book off his lap and hopping from the window cushion to the floor. Looking up at her and his head slightly bowed, Tyrion asked, “Will you allow me to escort you to your chamber? It is time that we both get some proper rest.” 

Sansa nodded, pulled her cloak a little tighter as made their way through the halls in silence, torches casting two shadows along the stones. 

As she neared the door, her stomach dropped, not quite wanting to say goodbye. She pushed her door open slowly, crossed the threshold, and turned around. His torch illuminated his bright blue eyes, his parted lips. 

Time felt like it slowed down. He reached for her hand, maintaining eye contact. It was slow and deliberate, giving her a chance to pull away if she wanted to. His hand clasped hers, and he brought her knuckles to meet his lips. The tiniest of crinkles formed around his eyes, and he revealed a small smile as he released her hand. 

Sansa hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until he let go.

“I have enjoyed this midnight rendezvous, my Lady. If this is my last night, I am glad to have spent even a moment of it with you," he said, impossibly soft, before turning away. She stood at the door until his torchlight could no longer be seen down the hall.


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of Rape/Abuse/Etc.

Sansa woke up tangled in her furs; one leg was sprawled on top of the blanket while the other stayed below. When she opened her eyes, she was clutching her pillow and questioning if her vivid dream was real. Like many of her dreams, she forgot them almost instantly as soon as she woke up. What she could remember of them often returned to her as glimpses instead of logical stories. 

All she could remember of her dream last night was flashes of golden curls, Winterfell’s deep snow, and embroidery needles in her hand, stitching something into a deep purple cloth. They were meaningless, and certainly not the worst that her mind conjured in her sleep, but she felt unsettled nonetheless. 

Perhaps that uneasy feeling in her stomach was due to the impending negotiations with the Dragon Queen that day. She knew she would have to carefully teeter the line between defending the North’s previous independent state and committing treason against the Queen. As Sansa overthought the nuances of her upcoming discussion, she more she feared she'd overstep the boundaries. If she were accused of treason, maybe they'd at least let her share a cell with Tyrion, she thought. 

Tyrion. Their midnight encounter resounded in her mind. “My loyalties are only divided as long as you two are…”

When he had arrived in Winterfell before the battle, she had felt a touch of jealousy. Neither of them had willingly entered their marriage, but they had bonded over being the pawns of King’s Landing. He had protected her from Joffrey more than once, and she suspected that being married to a highborn lady saved him from some of his customarily endured abuse. During the Royal Wedding, they had acted as a team looking out for the other. So, she had felt a twinge of betrayed when he had arrived sworn to counsel and defend another woman. 

But Sansa quickly realized that Tyrion’s loyalties were divided. When he thought Cersei would come to Winterfell, he had sworn Sansa’d be safe. He’d stood between her and wights with only a dragonglass dagger, and before the Great War, he’d warned her not to cross Daenerys. He faltered on the line of duplicity during their private moments, though she had tried to deter him, to keep boundaries clear. 

…. But Tyrion had a point. If Sansa and Daenerys were on the same side, he wouldn't be so split, and maybe she’d feel less hurt. While she did not want to compromise, perhaps it was in the interest of all involved if she tried to extend an olive branch and dissolve the situation before it escalated publicly. Daenerys had attempted to do that once before regarding her relationship with Jon, and maybe it was time that Sansa did the same. 

Sansa dressed in her favorite black gown, an armored bodice with embroidered inner sleeves that caught the light as she glided through the halls. She found herself out of Daenerys’s door and calmly asked an Unsullied guard if she was able to speak to the Queen. He entered her chambers, and upon return nodded curtly and held open the door. With a deep breath, Sansa entered. 

Daenerys’s stood across the room, shoulders back and eyes alert. At first glance, she exuded a cool, confident power. But Sansa was far more perceptive than most people gave her credit. Daenerys’s shoulders were back, but tense. Her eyes were alert, but there was an element of fear in them. Daenerys was scared. 

Sansa’s surprise appearance had momentarily given her the upper hand. Her first thought was to run with that, use it to her advantage for as long as she could, but her mission was to make peace with Daenerys, not fight.

“Your Grace. Thank you for seeing me.” Sansa said evenly. 

“What is the reason for your visit?” The fear in her eyes became more apparent. Sansa realized that she was unarmed without her dragons or armies, a feeling that the Dragon Queen was most likely not used to.

“I seek no ill will. I don’t hold any weapons, nor would I know how to use them if I did.” There was an almost imperceptible softening in Daenerys’s stance. "Your Grace, I come to make peace with you. I hope that a private conversation with you may help us to avoid a public display later today."

“I see.” 

“I also wanted to apologize. I have been overly defensive.” 

“I accept your apology, Sansa Stark.”

Sansa knew coming into the conversation that this would be a different kind of battle than the one that would have taken place in the Great Hall. This kind of talk would straddle the line between submission and hold fast to her beliefs. Since her surprise had waned, Daenerys’s face had become blank, giving nothing away. 

“I hope you understand why I felt the need to be so defensive. I have my people to look out for. “ 

"Do you think that their true Queen would threaten your people?"

“I think my people have different needs than other people you have ruled, your Grace.” 

“So different that I would destroy their way of life? Are they like the slavers? Or the masters who perpetuated misery so much that I had no choice but to threaten their lives?” 

“No. The Northmen are good people.” This was not going in the direction Sansa wanted. How did Daenerys misconstrue what she was saying? 

"Then why would they need you to protect them from me?” 

“I have to protect my people because they have always protected me. You may not be a tyrant, you may be different than the other kings that abused our land and our people, but your quest to rule us has only made me more suspicious of your intentions.” 

Daenerys silenced for a moment, then continued.“I have no ill intentions. I only want to make the world a better place, and that’s only possible if I make changes across all seven kingdoms."

"The thing is, we don't need to change here. The North has never had the same issues as the other six. We are so fiercely loyal to one another that issues do not arise in the same manner. The unrest in the Seven Kingdoms only began because King Robert Baratheon called upon my father to be Hand of the King in King’s Landing. When the Six disturbed the North, the entirety of Westeros collapsed in chaos.” Sansa’s voice remained even, suppressing her desire to yell.

Daenerys nodded. It was not a nod of agreement, but one that displayed she had listened. She gestured to the two small chairs near a table, inviting Sansa to sit. She remained hard for Sansa to read, but at least she was continuing the conversation. They both took their seats. 

“Give us our independence, let our way of life remain, and we will honor your loyalty whenever you call on us. We have appreciated your help at the Battle of Winterfell. It has not gone without notice. Kindness and trust have far-reaching effects in the North, and keeping the peace between the North and the six would allow us to have a positive working relationship. To take us under your reign would only cause strife, further chaos.”

“I see. And if the other six request independence? Should I bend to their will as well? It is my destiny to rule the Seven Kingdoms."

“I have spent too much time around people who feel they are destined for power to trust that they have good intentions for anyone but themselves. What makes you any different?” Sansa’s defensive tone had crept back into her voice. Her upper hand was slipping. 

“The kings and queens that torment do not know what it feels like to suffer. They do not know what is it like to starve as I did in the Dothraki Sea; they do not know what it is like to be pushed out of your home, as I was. They do not know what it is like to hide to survive or be raped. They have had every comfort and only seek more for the thrill of it. But I do know what it is like to live through those things, and I won’t let the torture continue under my rule.” 

Her words resonated with Sansa far more than she expected. Tyrion’s voice last night echoed in her mind – “She is very much like another strong woman I’ve come to know.” 

"You've had a hard journey, your Grace," Sansa admitted. 

Daenerys cocked an eyebrow at Sansa’s validation. Her eyes narrowed in cautious suspicion. 

“I suspect you have as well, Sansa Stark.” 

“I have.” 

Sansa took a deep breath. Her inner turmoil raged, debating if she should share her own story. Daenerys’s experiences had mirrored her own, and if they found common ground, it may help ease negotiations. 

But, part of her wanted to share her story not just for the potential political gain, but because in her lowest moments she often had swirling doubts about if the things that happened to her were her fault. If the things that happened to had indeed made her stronger or her just forced her to close off the world, appearing cold and unbreakable. She had gone from surviving one horrible entrapping to another. Even the brief lull of safety she had, in which she was married to Tyrion, she was still trying to process the loss of her brother and mother. When she’d been at home at Winterfell, she jumped into handling the North. She hadn’t honestly talked to anyone. Perhaps it was foolish to trust Daenerys with personal matters, but being closed off had left her hitting a wall. 

“Like you, Your Grace, I suffered greatly. I used to be a “little dove” that believed in knights and true love. Then I watched my father’s execution, ordered by my intended. I was forced to say my family were traitors so I could survive. The common people and the royal family tortured me. I felt so incredibly alone. I had no one on my side except my handmaiden. The first day I bled felt like a being delivered a life sentence. I was forced into marrying a family who had killed my own. Each family member or ally that entered my life turned out to be more manipulative than the last. The only thing I could do was adapt. I had to lie and just keeping moving forward. It was all I could do. When I finally got home to Winterfell, I was raped, bruised, and tortured in unimaginable ways. I kept thinking I could not endure much more, that my limit would be reached. But somehow, I forced myself to keep going until the little things that had rattled me paled in comparison to what I was handling now. I kept going until I realized that I was no longer a little dove, but a strong, powerful woman.” 

Daenerys’s eyes widened a bit as Sansa opened up to her. Sansa had surprised her once again. 

Daenerys took a deep breath, processing what Sansa had said before replying. “Your journey sounds much like mine.” 

“We have more in common than we thought.” She paused. “I tell myself that the things that have happened to me have a silver lining. That by surviving the torture, the rape, the abuse that I was made stronger, and can use that strength to protect my people from enduring those same horrors.” 

Daenerys nodded in response. “Yes, thinking that way helps to remind us that we can continue, and not give up. But I do believe we both would have grown to be strong women either way. We can carry on because of what we are made of, not because of what happened to us.” 

Sansa choked out, "Agreed." Sansa felt her face warm, tears beginning to pool in her eyes, and she swallowed thickly. Sansa did not know it, but she needed to hear that. For the first time in a long time, she felt truly understood. 

A moment passed, both of them reflecting on their stories. 

Sansa hesitated, but she cautiously asked what had been on her mind for too long. 

“Daenerys… After I was raped, I cannot imagine myself with another man. I shudder at the thought of being married off again. Northmen who have tried to court me - even with what seems like the purest of intentions - strike fear into my heart. Sometimes my mind replays my horrors, and it feels so real all over again. I fear that some of my experiences have made me stronger, but others have ruined me” At the last word, tears pooled in her eyes. 

“You will not have to marry unless you want to. You have taken back your power.” Daenerys cautiously continued, clearly affected by the younger girl’s emotional admission. “If I am your Queen, I would never ask that of you no matter how beneficial the alliance would be.” 

A tear spilled down her cheek. Sansa was relieved. Of course, she still wanted the North to be independent, but she felt a weight lifted. Even if the Gods did not favor her side, she would not have to be subjected to such torture again. 

Daenerys paused. “But do not think of yourself as ruined. You are not. Perhaps one day, you will find someone that you trust enough to open yourself up to that experience. It took time for me to want that again. But if you never want it, that that is okay.” 

She’d only been given that choice once before. 

“Perhaps one day I will see it that way too…. There are some good men in the world. Lord Royce helped me get home and take back Winterfell. And of course, Jon."

“Yes. Jon is a rare thing in this world. He had a lot of love in his heart. There are many bad men, but there are kind ones too. Jorah.” Daenerys looked at Sansa through sorrowful eyes. “And Theon," she said softly, dropping her gaze to the table. 

“It is true. They were.” 

“And Tyrion.” Daenerys breathes, looking up at once again. 

Sansa could feel Daenerys studying her reaction, but she kept her expression as blank as possible. She feared that the blush creeping up her face would give her away regardless. 

"Yes. He has always been kind to me. He was when we were married and has continued even now."

Daenerys waited for her to continue, but when Sansa said nothing else she dropped the subject of their relationship. 

"I struggle with how to charge him. He disobeyed my direct orders, but by doing so, Cersei Lannister is dead.” 

Sansa paused. It sounded as if Daenerys was seeking her counsel, but she did not know if there was enough trust between them for that to be the case. Yet, if she could have any power in keeping Tyrion alive, she would try. 

"I would not assume that you would seek my counsel, but I do understand your dilemma. As I said before, he may be one of the good ones. He had good intentions, even if he perhaps went about it poorly. And I can attest that he truly is loyal to you.” 

“And yet he disobeys me.”

“He is truly loyal, Your Grace. He has sought me out privately to convince me of your greatness. I do not think I would be sitting across from you without his influence.” 

“Ah. I see.” 

Daenerys peered at Sansa for a moment. She cocked head to the side in contemplation before taking a deep breath. 

“He will live,” Daenerys resigned. “He will face a … fitting punishment, but he will live.” 

Sansa signed in relief. The Dragon Queen seemed to be proving herself quite merciful. 

“The North…” The Dragon Queen started. 

Sansa tensed immediately. Yes, this conversation had begun to feel less like political negotiations and more like a budding friendship, but she was quickly reminded the real reason for her visit.

The Dragon Queen started over. “I will give the North much consideration, Sansa Stark. I will make my decision in time for the council later today. I do sincerely appreciate your visit.” 

“Your Grace, I may say last one thing?’ asked Sansa cautiously. 

Daenerys nodded curtly in reply. 

“You have won your cities in Essos with love, and have been rewarded in fierce loyalty. Your Unsullied stay by your side by choice because of the freedom you gave them from their masters. Please do the same for the North – give us our freedom, and we will reward you with loyalty when you call upon us." 

“I will consider your point. I do appreciate you taking the time to discuss this with me privately.” 

She stood, signaling the conversation was over. Her feelings were indeterminable. 

Sansa bowed her head and exited the chamber.


	6. VI.

There was a hush over the Great Hall. The great houses of the North assembled at the long tables. The Unsullied were in formation against the perimeter of the room. In the front of the room sat Arya, Bran, Sansa, Jon, a chair for Daenerys, Grey Worm, and Tyrion. 

They awaited the Dragon Queen’s entrance. It would be the first time she spoke to a general audience in Winterfell since the Battle of, and the Great War. From the whispers and grumblings that Sansa gathered, there were many mixed emotions in the room. Daenerys had won the respect of many with her dragon power, but people still held their suspicions simply because she was an outsider who threatened their independence. 

Sansa also wondered how far the news of Jon’s true parentage had spread. Neither her nor Daenerys had brought up that particular complication this morning, but she was sure it would factor into her decision. Sansa feared if it went unaddressed now, it would be more likely to rear its head later on when established politics were less malleable to change. 

The click of the door unlocked and the Dragon Queen strolled into the Great Hall, her long white rabbit fur coat wrapped tightly around her. She embodied power. After this morning’s conversation, Sansa did not feel so conflicted admitting to herself that she admired many of the Dragon Queen’s qualities. 

Once she took her seat, she began. “We have won the Battle of Winterfell. We have won the Great War. It is time to rebuild the Seven Kingdoms without the torment, starvation, and horrors that fill the history books. It is time for the rightful heir to rule.” 

Silence fell over the Hall. Even those Sansa knew would agree to Daenerys’s rule only nodded, not making a sound. 

“This meeting will discuss the organization of the Seven Kingdoms, particularly the North.” 

Sansa’s face remained calm, but her heart beat like it was about to explode out of her chest. She could only see Tyrion’s profile if she leaned forward and peered out of the corner of her eye, but it was enough to see his Adam’s apple bob. The Northmen stared at the Dragon Queen with intensity. 

Daenerys’s face remained as even as possible. There was no indication of emotion, only logic, as she proclaimed, “The North shall remain free.” 

Sansa’s eyebrows met the crown of her forehead in shock. Jon’s leaned back in his chair, eyes glancing up at Dany in relief. The Northerners cheered as loud as possible. 

Daenerys had a sparkle in her eye and the faintest of smiles on her face. She had finally begun to feel the love of the North. They were a special kind of people, in which letting go meant receiving so much more from them in return. 

“King in the North! King in the North! King in the North!” The Great Hall erupted in unison. At this, Daenerys’s face began to stiffen, her mouth forming a hard line once again. 

“Actually. Jon will not be King in the North.” Her sentence silenced the boisterous crowd in an instant. Lords exchanged looks, frowns, and some stared blankly in confusion. 

Daenerys continued. “As some of you may know, or have heard rumors regarding, Jon is a Targaryen. My brother Rhaegar had his marriage annulled, and secretly wed Lyanna Stark. Jon is a legitimate son of theirs. Bran and Sam Tarly confirmed this was true via visions and the High Septon’s diary.” 

The crowd was glued to her, eyes wide. Sansa noticed Northerners exchanging all sorts of looks from surprise, confusion, and delight to disbelief. She was shocked that Daenerys had openly divulged information that she’d ask Jon to keep secret.

“I see how the King in the North has served you well. He serves with honor and justice. He would be ideal, in both heart and birthright, to rule Westeros while I preside over Essos.” 

Sansa peered at Jon’s face. He did not look surprised; in fact, he stared blankly ahead. At some point, the Dragon Queen must have informed him of her plans for him to leave. Jon met Sansa’s eyes; a bittersweet smile grew on his face. 

“The North will be independent, but I have full faith that it will work in harmony with Westeros with Sansa Stark as your Queen. After all, she is now the oldest living child of Ned Stark, heir to Winterfell.” 

Sansa blinked, her body paralyzed. Indeed, if Jon were to leave the North, she’d be the next in line to rule. Advocating for the North was not done so to gain power, just to protect her people’s needs. She looked up at Daenerys. A soft smile graced her face, and she nodded.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Sansa managed to overcome her emotional response. This morning, she had been tense and prepared to fight for her home. Now she was overcome with joy. Daenerys smiled, and Sansa thought she saw tears threaten to spill over, but she couldn’t be sure. 

“As you know just as well as I, Sansa is fiercely protective of her people. But she also knows how to compromise. It is a rare quality in a leader, and I am happy to have her as an ally.” 

“The North thanks you, Your Grace. We shall treasure our independence, but remember your kindness when called upon.” Sansa beamed. 

“We shall begin making arrangements shortly to return to King’s Landing and transition from Cersei’s rule to Jon and I’s. We will leave Winterfell to rebuild within the fortnight. The meeting is adjourned except for those here at the high table.” 

Sansa, in all the excitement and relief at the news, had momentarily forgotten about Tyrion’s betrayal before the Great War. The tension returned to her shoulders as she watched the lords and ladies of the Northern houses filed out the doors. She leaned forward to look at Tyrion. His face was pale, drained of color. He stared down at the table, body, and eyes unmoving. 

When everyone but the seven of them had left, Daenerys started, far softer than her previously proclamations had been. “Tyrion, you freed your brother Jaime, my prisoner, before the Great War. You disobeyed me, acted above my rule, and potentially set an enemy free. I have struggled to find a fitting punishment for your crime because Jaime Lannister was responsible for Cersei’s death. Perhaps without your interference, the outcome of the war would be different. You have committed treason, but I cannot convince myself that death is a suitable punishment for your crime. Yet, I do not trust you to continue as my Hand, nor preside over any land in Westeros.” 

Tyrion did not look up from the table, but he nodded, taking in the Queen’s words. 

“You will be unable to claim Casterly Rock as your own. I would have banished you to the Night’s Watch, but that organization no longer exists, as there is nothing to watch. Therefore, you’ll be left here, in Winterfell. ” 

Sansa sat up in surprise. Jon turned to look at Sansa, his eyes gauging her reaction. Though she tried not to convey it, she was immediately relieved. Tyrion would live. Tyrion would live here, with her. She did not dare lean forward to see Tyrion’s reaction – she did not want to know if his response was one of gratitude or dread. 

Arya chimed in. “And what will he do here?” 

“That shall be up to the Queen of the North to decide.” Daenerys’s eyes flashed to Sansa’s, a slight twinkle in her eye. Sansa did not respond; she did not want to make a rash decision about how to place Tyrion. Instead, Sansa gave nothing away, putting on her icy exterior. 

“That will be all for today. I will begin to make arrangements to leave. We do thank you for the North’s hospitality. “ With that, she stood up and exited the room.

Sansa gathered all her courage and glanced over to Tyrion. She found he was already looking at her, eyes hopeful. Her cold façade melted immediately. Sansa took a deep breath, relief coursing through her veins. She nodded at him and gently closed her eyes before turning towards the door.


	7. VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you, everyone, who has commented or given kudos. it's truly been so lovely and encouraging. thank you all so so much.

Sansa held her breath, lifting her shoulders towards her ears as her handmaiden tightened her corset, and laced up the back of her dress. Her newly embroidered gown had been prepped for today, the day the Queen and Jon would leave for King’s Landing. 

It had only been a few days since the announcement that the North would remain independent, and since then, there’d been a flurry of activity around Winterfell. In between scheduled visits from stonemasons, she worked to reapportion rations. She had been in meetings for the past few days, handling blacksmiths and shepherds alike. She spent the previous day’s entire afternoon convincing Lord Royce that she should not have a coronation celebration. They simply didn’t have the food for a feast, and they could have one far in the future when Winterfell was not in such disarray. 

In her spare time, her mind had crept to Tyrion. Daenery’s sentence for him was less of a punishment and more a forced resignation of her service. He could not have Casterly Rock, which she was sure he was disappointed by, but considering everything, it wasn’t the harshest of treatment from his Queen. Sansa found great comfort in the idea that he would be staying in Winterfell. Tyrion was smart and had essentially ruled the nation as Hand to Joffrey, and while Daenerys was away, he’d gracefully handled Meereen. He would be an ideal advisor to her, especially when her home needed extra attention to restoring itself. She worried about his tendency for drinking and whoring, but Jon had briefly mentioned that he’d curbed his practice of the latter so much that he would insufferably complain about his celibacy. 

With meeting after meeting the past few days for Sansa, and more permanent chambers being prepared for Tyrion, she had not gotten a chance to talk to him or tell him of her plan in which he’d be her Hand. 

Her handmaiden gestured for her to hold out her arms, and her heavy fur slipped on above her gown. The black coat contrasted with the silver grey of her dress, drawing attention to the dark stitching displaying a dragon and wolf side by side. 

She glided towards the door when to Sansa’s surprise, there was a knock. She cautiously opened it to find Jon standing before her. 

“Good morning, Sansa. Or, Your Grace.” Jon said warmly.

“Jon! I was just leaving for the courtyard to bid you and Daenerys goodbye.” 

“Yes, she’ll be waiting for us both, but I did want a private word before we departed.” 

“Of course.” 

“I just wanted to say how very proud I am of you. I underestimated you when you first arrived at Castle Black, and I am so happy to see you now, at home, running Winterfell as well as Father would have.” His voice cracked on the word Father. Sansa knew that despite the discovery of his parentage, Jon considered Ned Stark his father more than anyone else. 

“Thank you, Jon. That means a lot. I know you will go on to do well in King’s Landing.” 

“I already have much to do awaiting me there.” He chuckled lightly. “Thankfully we will ride by Dragon and save some time.” 

“I was glad to see that Rhaegal had healed so well.” 

“They are incredible creatures.” 

Sansa nodded. 

“Sansa…” Jon trailed. “I know there is much to repair here, and you’ll do everything in your power for it to be done. Perhaps now is not the time for a feast or a coronation ceremony, but do not let yourself erode while Winterfell is restored. Allow yourself to enjoy life as well,” Jon implored, his eyes implying his words held more significant meaning. 

“I will not work myself into the ground, I promise,” Sansa said, attempting to keep the conversation light and centered on the castle.

“No, I…” Jon furrowed his eyebrows and let out a frustrated sigh. “I just mean that I want you to be open to happiness beyond your Queenly responsibilities. ” 

Sansa sighed. She didn’t want to discuss her personal life, or distinct lack of one, with him.

“My duty will come first.” She paused. “But I will be open to it.” She conceded, appeasing him. 

“That’s all I ask. Now, we can not keep Dany waiting much longer.” 

They walked out of the Great Keep and onto the path that overlooked the East Gate, leading to the King’s Road. The Unsullied were lined up, ready to march out. Daenerys was below, saying her goodbyes to Arya, Bran, Lord Royce and a few of the other lords.

Not too far away stood Drogon and Rhaegal. While Jon had gone ahead, Sansa took in the sight of them, knowing it may be the last time she saw dragons for a very long time. Drogon surveyed the area while waiting patiently for his mother, his long neck raised, and his eyes forward. It always looked to Sansa like he was squinting, able to see past a person’s façade and straight to their heart. His mouth was open slightly, each massive tooth on display. 

Sansa’s eyes shifted to Rhaegal, where she caught sight of Tyrion near the dragon’s nose. Her eyes widened as she observed the scene. Tyrion cautiously approached the smaller, green-scaled dragon with an outstretched hand. He bowed his body and head, eyes looking up from underneath his lashes. Sansa was too far away to hear what Tyrion was saying, but she could see his mouth move. He must have cracked a joke, for his benefit or the dragon’s, because he chuckled to himself lightly as he cautiously stepped forward. 

Rhaegal, in response, growled softly. Drogon momentarily looked in his direction but found it uninteresting, and returned to observing his mother. 

The smaller dragon extended his neck in Tyrion’s direction, and slowly turned his head, meeting him eye to eye. Tyrion was close enough to feel the condensation of Rhaegal’s breath in the cold. Sansa watched in amazement as Rhaegal allowed Tyrion to step past his head, and stand at his side. Carefully Tyrion lowered his hand and began to pet the fiery beast’s neck. His hand moved delicately over the scales. Rhaegal kept his eye on Tyrion, but even Sansa from a distance could see that the creature was relaxed. 

After a few pets, Tyrion stood back, beaming at the dragon. Had Sansa ever seen him look so happy? Tyrion bowed his head and stepped back to rejoin the humans. 

Sansa snapped out of her enchantment and made her way down the steps to see the Queen of Essos and King of Westeros off. 

“You look lovely, Sansa. Your embroidery is beautiful.” Daenerys greeted her. 

“Thank you. I could never do such magnificent beasts justice, but I have tried.” She replied, gesturing to the two dragons. 

“Please write to me in the future. I foresee this being a successful alliance in the years to come. I wish you all the best in your restorations.” 

“I will. Have a safe journey to King’s Landing and Essos. We will stay in touch.” 

Daenerys and Sansa exchanged a quick hug, and a genuine smiled graced both their faces. Sansa felt suddenly anxious for her new friend to go, but she suppressed her emotions. 

With the rest of the goodbyes exchanged, Drogon extended his wing in invitation for his mother to climb on. She gripped his back tightly, looked down at the Northerners with a smile before she took off, his wings producing a strong gust of wind. Jon followed on Rhaegal, and the Unsullied took it as their cue to march on. 

The Northern lords and the younger Starks departed the courtyard, and Sansa turned to return to the Great Hall when she felt a gloved hand grip her own, stopping her in her tracks. 

“Tyrion,” Sansa said warmly. She had not expected to talk to him, but she certainly was not disappointed that he had stopped her. 

“My lady.” 

“I do believe it’s ‘Your Grace’ now.” She lifted the corners of her mouth, teasing him. 

“Of course, Your Grace. I was hoping you would provide me with some direction. I suspect I could provide valuable services if you requested them though I would happily sit and drink wine all day if that is what you’d prefer.” There was a glint in his eye and tilt to his mouth. 

“You should know I have made cuts to our wine imports already. They seemed like a nonessential expense during reconstruction.” 

“Nonessential?!” Tyrion scoffed in mock horror. 

Sansa chuckled lightly. “Yes. Perhaps you’ll be forced to do your duties as my Hand if you weren’t drowning at the bottom of a flagon.” 

“My duties as Hand?” surprise coloring his voice. 

“The position is yours if you’d like it,” She said softly, bowing her head. 

“Of course, my – Your Grace.” Tyrion stood up a little straighter, and a smile graced his face. He was taken aback at the offer and a little proud. 

They smiled at each other. Sansa could see the blues of his eyes sparkle in the bright Northern light. Crinkles formed at their corners, his golden curls on his head were threatening to spill over into his line of sight. After a moment, she broke eye contact and gestured for him to walk through the courtyard with her. 

“What does it feel like?” Sansa started. “The dragon skin.” 

“You saw Rhaegal and me.”

“I did. I was quite surprised.” 

“While I was Daenerys’s Hand, I tried to spend as much time with them as possible. They never took to me as they did with Jon and Daenerys, but Rhaegal remembers that I once set him free from chains. He will allow me to get close to him.” 

“They were once in chains?” 

“Yes, Sansa.” She made a mental note of how quickly the formality between them had worn off, but she did not correct his address of her. “In Meereen, the dragons were eating livestock that belonged to farmers. One day, they killed a child. Daenerys could not control them, and though she could not bear it, she locked Rhaegal and Viserion in the dungeon beneath the pyramid. Drogon was flying off, not returning to the city. That is why he is slightly bigger than his siblings.” 

Sansa nodded, understanding the story as they continued their walk. 

“Rhaegal and Viserion were not eating since their mother left. Dragons do poorly in captivity. They must be unchained, or they’ll waste away, and knowing that these intelligent creatures have affection for their friends, I hoped that I would be able to free them.” Tyrion’s voice warmed at the memory. “And they did. Rhaegal and Viserion allowed me to touch them even.” 

“They are smart creatures to remember such kindness.” Her voice was warm, impressed by his courage and compassion. 

“I still cannot believe they exist here and now. I remember asking my uncle for one as a gift for my name day. When my father told me all the dragons had died, I cried myself to sleep. After that, I would have never thought that one day, a full-grown dragon would allow me to touch it.” Awe colored his voice as he recounted the story. 

Sansa could not help but smile. There was a depth to Tyrion that she rarely got to see. With all the political strife settled, she wondered what else she would discover about him. 

“They truly are magnificent. I am sorry that you had to say goodbye.” 

“It is okay, Sansa. I have a feeling that the North will be good for me. Even without dragons.” 

“Or wine?” Sansa teased. 

“My first order as Hand will be to restock the cellar.” A playful smile graced his lips. “It’ll be good for morale,” He said with a wink.


	8. VIII

Tyrion’s eyelids had begun to feel heavy, drooping lower and lower until his eyes shut completely. He took a deep breath and looked down at the book in his lap. The words were swimming on the page, and he couldn’t identify the place where’d he’d left off. His limbs felt heavy; the stone against his back caused a dull ache. After a moment, he mustered up the strength to slide down from the library’s window seat and trudge up the small spiral staircase leading up to the top of the tower. 

Just as he had the past two weeks, he found red hair splayed over the table, the Queen of Winterfell asleep. Sansa had a thick golden-bound book open, one arm outstretched in front of her, the head resting against it and her other arm curled against her body. 

Though exhausted, he could feel his senses awaken, drinking in the sight of her. Her lips were parted ever so slightly; her face was relaxed. During the day, Tyrion saw her don her icy façade, but at night, asleep, she looked like she was finally at peace. The remaining candlelight illuminated her fiery hair, silky and draping over her book. 

Tyrion squeezed her extended hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. Her fingers curled in response, gripping his own. She slowly reanimated, rolling her face against her arm and opening her eyes. Ever so softly, her long lashes lifted to reveal her ocean eyes. Swirls of green and blues, as enticing as a siren, looked back at him. Tyrion swallowed hard. 

“Sansa. It’s time we both return to our chambers.” He said softly. 

“This is a getting to be a bad habit,” Sansa sighed. She lifted her head from her arm, sitting upright. 

“Tomorrow we’ll retire early, right after supper. We won’t set foot in the library at all.” 

“That’s what you said last night.” 

“Ah, yes, I suppose I did. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll mean it,” he paused. “Come on; I’ll escort you back.” 

This had become somewhat of a nightly routine between Sansa and Tyrion. They would attend meetings all day, hearing from the lords and commoners who sought to express gratitude or ask for supplies. After their separate suppers, they’d find each other in the library reading up on bad harvests, alternate building materials, and effective diplomatic strategies. It became their time to prepare for the next day’s meetings or find creative solutions for on-going issues. As experienced as Tyrion and Sansa were, they were working tirelessly during this reconstruction to make it as smooth as possible. One of them would inevitably fall asleep until the other woke them up and they’d walk back to their respective chambers side by side. 

Though Sansa and Tyrion had begun to spend a lot of time together as Queen and Hand, most of their interactions had been dull and dutiful. It was only in the library that they’d tease each other and talk honestly. Tyrion dared not to raise his hopes too high, but perhaps she even flirted with him. 

Though, that wasn’t every night. Sometimes Sansa would be lively and invite him to sit with her; other times, she would quietly walk up the spiral staircase and leave him to the window seats lining the walls. He always respected her wishes, and never pushed for companionship. She always appreciated being escorted back to her chambers at the end, even on nights like tonight where she had cued she wanted her space.

As they approached her chamber door, Tyrion took her hand in his own and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Goodnight, Sansa. Sleep well.” 

She bowed her head calmly in response. “You too, Tyrion,” she replied before letting herself into the room, the door closing with a click behind her. 

Tyrion padded off to his chambers just a few doors down; without bothering to undress, he curled into bed and fell asleep effortlessly. 

____ 

 

The following night, Tyrion decided to creep into the library after his dinner. He had told Sansa he’d take a night off, but the meeting they had with the Karstarks that day resulted in fewer barrels of seal oil than they expected to receive, and he had hoped to find an alternative to use.

The creak of the heavy door echoed through the library tower. He did not know how Sansa entered without the noisy hinges sounding; he could never manage it himself. 

Just as he prepared to enter the aisles, he heard footsteps padding down the stairs. He looked up expectantly. 

“You liar.” Sansa chuckled, eyes bright. “You said you wouldn’t come today.” 

“I could say the same to you” Tyrion met her eyes, dancing in the firelight. 

“Come join me when you have your books.” She turned and skipped back up the stairs. 

His tried to ignore his heart skipping a beat; he decided not to dwell too much on how nice it was to feel chosen. How nice it was to feel wanted by Sansa. He gathered a few books that might contain relevant information and lugged them up the staircase. At his arrival in the loft, she bent down to take the few novels off the top of his stack and set them on the table. 

“’The Leviathans of the Shivering Sea?” She asked as she peered at the top cover.

“Perhaps an alternative to seal oil in the future.” 

“Those damn Karstarks.” Sansa shook her head. 

“Sansa! Watch your tongue!” he said in mock horror, laughing at her unladylike honesty. 

“Lord Karstark is just selfish. We need the extra oil to light the torches so we can work on the shortened day. He just wants it for himself to keep warm. Maybe if he were a bit nicer to his wife, she’d agree to be near him, and she could keep him warm instead.” 

Tyrion couldn’t help but laugh. After a day of Sansa remaining entirely diplomatic, watching her rant without abandon provided him the utmost amusement. 

“You know it’s true. What did he say earlier? 'Karhold is not as well insulated as Winterfell?'” 

“Such shit!” Tyrion agreed. “Did he forget the gaping holes in our walls from defending the living from the dead?” He chuckled at the ridiculousness of the Northern Lord. 

Sansa snickered and shook her head. “Perhaps a finding creative solution now will benefit us in the future. Regardless of who’s castle is more insulated.” She said with a roll her eyes. She met Tyrion’s gaze, her smile still at her lips. “Did you happen to bring wine?” 

Tyrion blushed slightly. “I did. Though I assumed you’d uphold your promise to relax tonight so I did not bring any glasses, only the flagon” 

“I’ll only have a few sips anyway if you don’t mind sharing.”

“Not at all.” 

He passed her the wine, fingers brushing lightly in the exchange. His fingertips burned at the contact, sending heat up his arm. She took a swig of wine, a bit tactlessly in her fiery state. 

“And Tyrion? What do you think of that new Maester?” 

“Something about him is off, but I can’t place what it is.” 

“Me either. But I’m not sure I like him.” 

“Does he…? Does he remind you too much of Pycelle?” Tyrion asked, taking a drag from the flask. 

“Yes! That’s it! I think it’s his eyebrows.” Sansa laughed. 

“And the unblinking eyes!” 

“He’s just as creepy as Pycelle was!” 

“Perhaps you should send him back to the citadel before he starts to bend his vows too and explore the needs of the flesh.” He said, a disgusted look crossing his face at the thought. 

“I just might. Who could feel safe with someone like Pycelle around?” 

They both smiled at each other, eyes unbreaking from the others. Tyrion passed her the leather pouch of wine once more. 

“No, thank you. Otherwise, we won’t get any work done, and we’ll just keep talking.” 

“And what’s wrong with that?” he replied with a grin. 

The corners of her mouth turned up, suppressing a smile. “Come on; we have to read.” 

She turned to bury her head in her book, but his eyes lingered on her face for a moment. Tyrion’s always admired Sansa - for her great beauty, of course, but so much more as well. When she was younger, in King’s Landing, he respected her for her resilience during Joffrey’s torture, and for her support during Joffrey’s wedding. Now that she was older, it was her work ethic, cunning wit, and morals that impressed him. 

Despite her initial defensive behavior, now that she was Queen in the North and on good terms with Daenerys, Sansa had fallen back into trusting him without the same reservations, and in turn, Tyrion could openly support her. Granted, providing that support was part of his job as her Hand, but in the times which she invited him up to the library loft to laugh about their day or joke about the quirks of the Northern lords, he couldn’t help but hope there was something more profound than a working relationship between them. His thoughts quickly turned sour, though, because even if there was something more, she still might not choose him. He had no claim to Casterly Rock, no access to the same wealth and riches he once did. 

Tyrion realized he’s never taken her eyes off her when she turns to look at him, eyebrows creased in concern, asking “What is it?” 

“Ah, no, uh, nothing.” He stumbled; embarrassed he was caught staring at her so blatantly. 

“Okay…” She says, but she tucks her chin to her neck, a blush creeping up her cheeks as well. 

They go about reading for the rest of the night, flipping pages, making passing comments to the other about oils, whales, and seals. Tyrion’s the first to feel the effects of the evening, his eyes threatening to shutter. 

“Sansa, I may have to retire for tonight.” He looks up at her to see the dark circles under her eyes beginning to reform, her body hunched over languidly. She blinks at him, slowly registering what he’s saying.

“Yes, Tyrion. Walk me back?” 

“Of course, my lady.” He breathed. 

Just as every night, they walk side by side until they reach her door, departing with a squeeze of her hand and a gentle “good night” before sleeping soundly in their separate chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trying my best to update in a timely manner but I promise I'm working on it


	9. IX

Despite all the work that had been done, and still needed to be done, Sansa was quite enjoying life the past few weeks. Sure, she was Queen, a title that would theoretically make a lot of people many happy, but it was more than that. 

Sansa felt secure. She had security and safety in the loyalty of the Northmen and with genuine autonomy; she did not have to worry about being married off without her consent. People listened to her and respected her, something rare growing up. Seeing Winterfell be repaired under her direction made her feel accomplished. She finally had her family back. She and Jon frequently corresponded via raven, and though she kept a tight schedule and Arya was often training, the sisters always had a meal together to catch up. 

She tried to give to all the things contributing to her contentment equal weight, but she knew that Tyrion’s presence in her life had a heavy hand in her happy state, even more than she’d like to admit. It was nice to have someone who supported her during diplomatic negotiations; his quick tongue would often articulate what she thought when she didn’t conjure the words. She felt she had someone to turn to when she wasn’t sure how to approach a situation, and they shared a similar vision for how the North should be ruled – a delicate balance of exerting power while retaining loyalty. More than a political ally, he was a friend. Their nights together peppered her life with real laughter and humor. Only with him could her tiny moments of annoyance throughout the day turn into shared jokes at night. She could be honest and lighthearted with him in the library, knowing that he would not take her any less seriously the next morning. It was only with him and her family that she felt she could remove the mask of cold stone strength she wore. 

There was a part of her she kept locked away in her heart, the part that wondered if there could be more to their relationship than being a Queen and her Hand. Opening it unleashed a whirlwind of thoughts in Sansa’s mind, most of them full of fear and negativity. What if he hurts her? What if he sees her as ruined and wouldn’t dare think of her romantically? What if they have feelings for each other, but she doesn’t want to be intimate with him?

Sometimes she internally battled those thoughts, countering them with reminders of what Tyrion said in the crypts about how they should have stayed married, or thinking of how he was so incredibly gentle with her when he woke her up by squeezing her hand. She always welcomed it, his hand in hers, taking comfort it in instead of reacting in fear. 

But it’s easier to lock all those thoughts – the good and the bad – away. Besides, she gets to spend most of her days and nights with him anyway, so why change anything?

Sansa was still lost in her reverie when she arrived at the top of the spiral staircase. Tyrion was already at the table, head bent over a book. He was muttering something under his breath when she walked in, “Morghot… nēd…yssy…” 

“Practicing your Valyrian?”

He jumped a little in his seat, looking up at her with startled eyes. “How do you manage to sneak in so quietly, Sansa?” 

She let out a breathy laugh. “Arya’s taught me a lot about how to get around the castle without anyone noticing.” 

He shook his head with a smile, going back to his text. Sansa crossed and stood behind him, bending slightly to peer at the book. “Morghot nēdyssy sesīr zūgusy azantys vestras” was carefully inked into the page. 

He twisted his shoulder to peer up at her, their faces comfortably closer than usual. Her ocean eyes met his; she could count his eyelashes if she wanted to. Her heart started to beat faster, and she wondered if he’d be able to hear it as close as they were.

“The knight says that even the brave men fear death.” He quietly translated. 

She pulled back, standing straight again. “Perhaps stick to shorter sentences, Tyrion. That one has too many words you could mispronounce and potentially start a war.” She japed. 

He chuckled. “I wish I could say my Valyrian was not that bad, but I can’t proclaim such a falsity.” The smile reached his eyes, forming tiny crinkles at their corners. They held their gaze for a moment until Sansa realized it just been just a beat too long. She hoped that the pink in her face wasn’t too noticeable in the dim candlelight. 

“What have you decided to read tonight?” 

“Daenerys wrote to me earlier. The dragons are acting strange.” 

“How?” Sansa blinked, creasing her eyebrows in alarm. “Are they okay?” 

“Here, Sansa. Read the scroll from her.” 

He produced the parchment from his pocket, passing it to her. She unfurled it to read: 

"Dearest Tyrion. I hope the fires of the North are keeping you warm and you are drinking enough wine to sate you. I write to you because my children have been acting strange. They have spent long periods away from home, and lately, they have only returned one at a time. Rhaegal is looking particularly gaunt. I am unsure if they are still grieving Viserion, but I have been unable to find any answers for their behavior in the Meereenese library. I have asked the maester at Dragonstone to research this as well, but he has yet to send a raven back. Would you happen to know what may be wrong, or have any text on the matter? I wish you well, Tyrion Lannister. Daenerys." 

Sansa reread it. 

“What do you think is going on? Would they still be grieving after all this time?” 

“It’s possible, though unlikely. It’s been quite some time and dragons, while socially intelligent creatures have been known to accept death. Sometimes more gracefully than us humans.” 

Sansa nodded, impressed, as Tyrion continued. “I’ve been doing a bit of reading on knights who mistakenly entered the den of a dragon… assuming that they’ve been keeping a den while away. I thought it would shed some light on normal dragon behavior.” 

“Do you think perhaps they are just establishing a home of their own, away from Daenerys now that there is peace in the kingdoms?” 

“It’s possible, that was my first thought too. But I don’t know if that explains why they’d be returning one at a time though, or Rhaegal’s sudden emaciation.” 

“He looked perfectly healthy when we saw him last.” 

“Indeed. So I’m hoping I’ll discover something tonight, though this book hasn’t been much use so far. A lot of Valyrian sayings without much dragon behavior.” 

“There may be a few dragon books stacked near the north window downstairs. I remember Jon mentioning he had read some, and he doesn’t always re-shelve properly.” 

“Ah, thank you. I’ll be downstairs then if you need me then.”

She didn’t want him to leave - she was feeling particularly social tonight and had hoped to chat a bit longer. Her eyes trailed after him as he descended the stairs, coattails bouncing lightly. His name rested on her tongue, ready to call him back to her, but she pulled her eyes away and tried to refocus on her book for the night. 

\- 

Sansa had been right, Tyrion thought. There were several rare books on dragons that were stacked carelessly alongside the window instead of shelved properly in their section. 

Tyrion spent a couple of hours thumbing through the pages, stopping every so often on any topic that particularly piqued his interest: Dragon hunting methods (brutal), dragon taming techniques (complex), dragon signs of stress (subtle). 

He got lost in the texts, uncovering the knowledge that he had never heard before, even during his days in which he was obsessed with dragons. The collection in Winterfell indeed contained rare books. 

Tyrion skimmed a few passages in “Dragons of the Early Targaryens” until a few words about dragons suddenly losing weight stopped his roving eyes. 

Oh. 

He jammed his thumb into the page, closed the book and hurried off to the stairs to tell Sansa what he’d discovered. When he bounded up the staircase and reached the top, he stopped short. His heart sank immediately, and he could feel his blood run cold. 

Sansa’s arms were curled on the table, her head resting upon them, with her face towards him. Her eyes were closed, asleep, but her eyebrows were furrowed, and her eyes clenched in pain. Her forehead shone in the candlelight, sweat coating her skin. Her entire frame was visibly shaking, and soft whimpers escaped from her throat. 

“Sansa!” Tyrion rushed over to the table and stood at her side. His call did not elicit any response, so he shook her shoulder, just hard enough that she may wake up. “Sansa,” he repeated. “Wake up.” 

She startled awake. Her blue eyes looked at him in alarm, trying to get her bearings of where she was and what was going on. 

“Tyrion.” She rasped, regaining her breath. She was bewildered, visibly shaken up. She slowly straightened her back, sitting up again and holding his gaze while she took several deep breaths. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I…” Sansa pinched her eyes and grimaced, letting out a long breath. “I had a nightmare.” 

“That’s okay, my lady. That’s okay.” He softly cooed. Cautiously, he placed his hand on her back. She didn’t tense up at his touch, so he hesitantly began to move his hand circularly, rubbing her back to soothe her. 

She stared at the table, head bent low, still shaking “It was about before.” Her voice broke on the last word, her face crumpled and tears spilled down her reddened cheeks.

Her distress, in turn, broke him. 

He slid his arm gently to her shoulder, draping his arm around her. To his astonishment, she leaned in, resting her head against his chest. Red engulfed his vision - her bright red hair in front of him, pulses of light dancing in his eyes. His heart beat furiously, and he knew she could hear it, but he didn’t care. She curled her hand into his tunic, balling up a fist of fabric and holding on. They stayed like that, her wrapped in him, for a few moments until her breathing slowed, and the shaking of her body ceased. 

It was all he could do to help her; it broke his heart to see her so upset. She had been through so much and remained so strong. To see her so distraught was simply a reminder that her outward strength did not negate what she had experienced. 

Wordlessly, she extracted herself from him. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Sansa,” he said softly. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Let’s get you back to your chambers.” 

She nodded, leaving her things, holding herself around her middle. As they exited the library to make their way down the hall, Tyrion felt her hand slid around his upper arm. He lifted his hand to meet hers, their fingers gently intertwining. Heat radiated through his body, warming him all over. He rubbed his thumb over her hand soothingly as they walked along the hall. 

When they reached her chamber door, Tyrion wasn’t quite sure what to do. He didn’t want to leave her, especially so shaken up. Perhaps she needed something to help her go back to sleep, a tea or soothing bath – maybe even a maester’s concoction. Struggling to find the right words to suggest it, he opened and closed his mouth before finally starting, “I could…” 

“Stay?” she supplied. Her cheeks burned red, from her crying or her suggestion Tyrion could not tell. 

He blinked rapidly, as shocked and surprised as ever. He bowed his head slightly, not quite meeting her eyes. “I was going to say I could get you the essence of nightshade,” He said cautiously, giving her a chance to take it back, change course. 

“Will you stay?” 

“Only if you want me to. Only if you think it would help.” 

Was his heart leaping out of his chest at the invitation? Yes. Was his stomach in a knot now? Yes.

They entered her chambers. She loosened the grip on his fingers and took short strides to behind her screen where she could don her nightgown privately. 

Tyrion took it upon himself to lay in his tunic and breeches on the small chaise in the corner of the room and adjusted the pillow, moving it lower, so it was suitable for sleep. He closed his eyes and heard the distinct rustle of furs being pulled back. He could listen to Sansa as she slid into bed. 

“Tyrion?” she called. All the hair on his body stood on edge, waiting for whatever she requested. “Why are you over there?” Her voice was small, full of hurt. 

He opened his eyes and found her looking at him from the canopy. Her red hair splayed on the pillow, and she was curled on her side with her arms tucked to her chest. Her eyes were hollow, but pleading. 

“Sansa, I’ll only share your bed if you want me to.” He replied softly. Though his words echoed his statement on their wedding night, he hoped his tone conveyed how purely he meant it, devoid of any sexual connotation. He was acting only on her direction, only doing what she explicitly stated she wanted from him. She was vulnerable, and he didn’t know what her nightmare that been about or what might upset her further. For all he knew, it could have been about King’s Landing, or being forced in their previous marriage. So he patiently waited for her to decide what she needed from him. 

She nodded, her frame breathing in quietly before she plaintively replied, “Please.” 

Tyrion took a deep breath, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. His body felt aflame, more alive with every take he took towards her bed. But the overwhelming part of him was hesitant, screaming for him to stop. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her further, and though she had explicitly asked for him to join her in her chambers, and now join her in her bed, he was not sure how clear she was thinking and did not want her to regret anything or push him away later. If he were to leave and reject her, it surely would hurt her more than the possible regret? He would do what she asked and accept the consequences as they came, he decided. If it hurt their friendship later on, at least he’d be able to comfort her for one night. 

He swallowed as he reached the bed, maintaining eye contact with Sansa. She nodded, reaffirming her choice. He circled to the empty side of the bed and crawled up. He pulled back the furs and slid in, laying flat on his back. Her back was to him, still curled inward, making herself as tiny as possible. He tried to steady his breath as his mind raced. He was close to her, intimately close to her, which felt surreal, but he did not know what to do to make things better for her. He didn’t know how to comfort her without increasing their intimacy, and he didn’t want to cross the line. He lay there paralyzed in internal debate until she flipped over to face him, resting on her other side. 

He rolled over to face her. Her eyes were outlined in red, and dark circles formed underneath. She looked hollowed and gaunt. Her face was streaked with tears, and she bit her bottom lip to keep it from quivering. Her chin was tucked in; she looked up at him through her lashes. It was almost imperceptible now, but Tyrion could see her trembling still. 

Slowly, she closed the gap between them. She tucked her head against his chest, and curled around his body, keeping her arms against her. He had to slow his breath consciously, the contact between them overwhelming. It pained him to know that she would be able to tell how affected he was by the rapid pace of his heart, but he couldn’t do anything about it. 

He cautiously lifted his hand to the crown of her head and ran it over her hair, trying not to think about how incredibly soft it is, like the most beautiful silk he’s ever held. He cradled her, their breaths moving in and out in time until eventually, her trembles subsided, and they drifted off to sleep.


	10. X

Sansa’s first thought to break through the haze of sleep that morning was how hot it was. Why were her chambers scorching? Had her handmaiden added extra logs to the fire? She registered a dull ache in her shoulder and went to twist to relieve it. But in her adjustment, she bumped into something. Something warm. Oh. 

Tyrion. Tyrion was in her bed. The memory of the night before rushed back to her; the fog of sleep dissipated in an instant. 

She’d had that terrible nightmare last night. In the dream, she’d been all alone in the middle of the forest. The direwolves of her family had been chasing her, but they weren’t the gentle ones she grew up alongside, they were closer in build to Ramsey’s hounds. Somehow, she had ended up in a river, trembling in the cold with the wolves surrounding on either side. She couldn’t go anywhere, couldn’t do anything without encountering them, vicious for her blood. The direwolf of her littlest brother had begun to snap his teeth at her, coming closer and closer. Then the scene shifted to back at Winterfell, with Ramsey. She’d been inside her chambers, dreading his return, when she heard his heavy, distinct footfalls approach the door. 

At that point, Tyrion had woken her up in the library, but she couldn’t get the isolated, empty feeling out of her bones. The dread and fear of Ramsey’s approach had felt so real as if she had traveled in time and was reliving that moment. She couldn’t explain why it was so scary– it had just been footsteps – but it made her break down all the same. Afterward, the only thing she had wanted was not to feel as alone as her dream had made her believe. 

But now, lying beside him, there were consequences for that decision. Was she supposed to get up and leave? Dismiss him as if she hadn’t just sobbed into his chest? Stay? Her mind raced, and her breath quickened in sudden panic. 

At that exact moment, she became acutely aware of why she had been so warm when she woke up. Tyrion’s arm lay over her torso, his fingers curled around her waist. His golden curls rested near her shoulder; chin tucked to his chest.

She would have been able to slip free quite easily by sliding out from underneath his arm, and maybe she could go about her day as if this entire thing never happened. As she contemplated it, she surprised herself; she didn’t want that. She wanted to lie there, not because she needed someone to bring her back to reality like last night, but because there was something indescribably lovely about laying here with him. 

He whined, fingers tightening against her waist. Heat shot up her spine as he held her tighter. His curls brushed her shoulder. She turned her head to see the flutter of his eyelashes as he awoke until finally, he looked up at her. 

His eyebrows creased in concern but a soft, yet cautious, smile remained on his face. He lowered his head and swallowed. “Hi.” He breathed gently. 

Her eyes widened, and breath hitched, not knowing how to respond. She should have slipped away when he was still asleep, instead of further blurring the boundaries of their friendship.

He carefully removed his hand from her waist, his eyes measuring her response, but she gave nothing away. Certainly, she did not express how the lost of contact pained her. 

“Sansa.” He said carefully. “Do you want me to leave?” 

“No, Tyrion,” she replied, her breath shaking a little. Then she mustered up all her courage before saying, “Don’t go yet.” 

“Okay. He nodded and sat up. His curls were a tangled mess, flying in every direction. It was endearing, Sansa admitted to herself. 

“I’m sorry,” Sansa started. “I’m sorry that you saw me like that and I was so demanding of you.” Her eyes downcast. 

“Sansa, you have no need to apologize. You had a nightmare, and needed some support before falling back to sleep.” He swallowed. “I’m…” He furrowed his brows, deliberately choosing each word. “I’m glad that you trust me enough that I could help you.” 

“You did help” She nodded. “You made it better.” 

“Good.” 

A silence settled over them. Sansa did not know how to continue. She was terrified of how nice the night had been; in comparison to so many horrible nightmares that left her sleepless and broken. She’d never had someone be there for her in her moments of weakness. She’d always had to deal with nightmares or flashbacks or emotional spirals by herself, handle it and pick herself back up. But as lovely as it was, had asked too much of him? 

“Is this going to change anything?” Her voice was small and couldn’t meet his eyes as she asked. 

“Not if you don’t want it to.” His voice was barely audible. 

“Okay.” 

He slowly reached for her hand, lifted it to his mouth, and pressed his lips to her knuckles, before climbing down from the bed. She watched he straightened his tunic, rumpled from sleep, and ran his fingers through his curls before turning and exiting her chambers. She almost called him back to her, but instead, she watched him go.


	11. XI

Sansa entered the Great Hall, the collar of her dress accentuating her long neck and black skirts trailing behind her. Her posture was straight as an arrow and her shoulders back and unmoving. She looked perfect, hair newly braided in tight plaits and lips colored in red.

She’d meticulously prepared herself to look as put together as possible because she felt as scatterbrained as one could be. After Tyrion had left, she’d felt the acute emptiness of the room. Perhaps it was still the remnants of the nightmare, or the avalanche of feelings she was so well-versed in suppressing that was finally coming out, but she’d be unable to shake an unsettling sadness that had crept over her since the morning.

As she entered the hall, she’d readied herself to see Tyrion, completely apathetic on the outside and terrified on the inside. She hadn’t been able to read his feelings about anything. He hadn’t expressed much; he’d just done what was asked of him. Had she asked too much, though?

When she looked at him, already seated in the Hall to grant an audience with the common people alongside her, he gave her a nod and smile. There was nothing different in that smile than any other day. He curled his lips up the same, and his eyes weren’t changed. They didn’t avoid her, nor they did linger on her longer.

As they continued their audience for the next several hours, Sansa became hyper-focused on Tyrion’s actions. He was acting perfectly normal, delegating financial matters of the common man with those of the crown. He smiled, cracked just as many jokes, but was not overly friendly. He was acting as if nothing had happened between them. Wasn’t sharing her bed profound for him? Wasn’t holding her in his arms meaningful? How could he possibly be unaffected? How he couldn’t feel…

“Sansa?” His voice broke through her reverie.

She snapped out of her thoughts, refocusing her attention on what was going on around her. Sansa met Tyrion’s eyes, his eyebrows knitted in deep concern, his critical eye evaluating her. She could feel the stares of the rest of the room pointed at her as well.

“Yes, Tyrion?”

“Do you concur?” He said, his tone conveying this was not the first time he asked.

“Yes, of course, I do. Yes.” She said, somewhat unconvincingly. She was utterly unable to recall what topic was being discussed or what the decision had been.

He raised an eyebrow before dragging his eyes away from hers, resuming his talks with the farmer (or maybe butcher?) in front of them.

She tried to refocus on the next few guests, but it proved challenging, and she was relieved when it was announced that there were no further audience members for the day.

Sansa filed out first into a small hallway, with Tyrion trailing behind her.

“Are you alright, Sansa?” He asked. His voice was low and raspy, deepened so others wouldn’t hear. He peered at her, studying her face as they walked.

“Yes, Tyrion.” She stated with perfect stoicism.

“If you wanted to take the day to rest, we could see Winter Town’s progress another day.”

“No, I am fine.” Her voice involuntarily broke.

“Sansa.” He commanded her attention, but she kept her gaze forward.

She hardened her jaw, “Everything is fine; I don’t need to rest. Let it go.”

“Fine. If you’re set on continuing on today, I won’t stop you.” He huffed.

Tyrion talked to one of their accompanying men the entire ride to and from Winter Town, avoiding Sansa entirely. While she certainly did not feel up to talking to him, the distinct emptiness she’d felt that morning echoed in her chest again, leaving her short of breath.

She wanted things to remain normal between them. She didn’t want their working relationship or friendship to change; She wanted it to stay the same, spending all their days and nights together. He was acting the same as always… yet she felt such a loss. His normalcy stung. Like nothing had happened for him while her mind was entirely encapsulated, replaying in her mind over and over again. Flashes of his golden curls on her shoulder, the warmth radiating from his chest, his hands running through her hair so softly continuously replayed in her mind. The feeling of letting down her guard, being open with someone, with him, felt like the weight of the world of momentarily off her shoulders. It was overwhelmingly intimate. Was he truly as unaffected as he was acting? Should she have been too?

\-------

Upon their return to Winterfell, she retired to her chambers to have dinner with Arya. Sansa made sure to keep the conversation on Arya’s new sparring partner, unwilling to talk to her younger sister about things with Tyrion. _There were no things with Tyrion_ , Sansa reminded herself. H _e just helped her recover from a nightmare, and that was it. Now things are normal. Incredibly normal. Completely unchanged!!_

Arya concluded their dinner early, a skeptical look in her eye as she departed, but she refrained from questioning anything.

Unable to be alone with her thoughts for any longer, she headed to the library, knowing full well she’d most likely run into Tyrion. Despite her hurt feelings that he seemed unaffected, she still wanted to see him.

As she slid into the library, she heard the scratching of a quill coming from upstairs. She quietly tiptoed up the spiral staircase, to find Tyrion with his bent over the table, dipping the feather in an inkpot. Her heart stalled as he met her eyes.

“Hello.” He stammered out in surprise.

“Hello.” It came out timider than she intended.

“I have a theory about Drogon and Rhaegal.”

“Oh, yes! The dragons!” She’d forgotten all about them since last night. “What is your theory?”

“I’m quite sure there will be a third dragon in the world soon.”

At that, Sansa completely abandoned all her emotional turmoil, enchanted by the possibility of the dragons reproducing.

“Are you sure? How?”

“Well, we were never sure quite of the dragons’ sex. We assumed they were all male, but as young dragons, they are sexless until they are fully mature. As they grow to full size, they develop sex organs. But, the scholar in this book thinks that the organs they develop are not randomly selected like in humans and other animals, but based on the needs of the population. So, for instance, if there are only two dragons in the world, one will grow to be male and the other female.”

Sansa leaned in further, captivated by what he was saying.

“He thinks this happens based on some sort of scent that the dragons release. So it makes sense that either Rhaegal or Drogon would develop to be female and the other male. And when female dragons are pregnant, they fly far away from their usual feeding grounds to build a den and safely lay the egg. In the time of many dragons they would mostly feed in the same territory, so by leaving the feeding grounds, the pregnant female is less likely to encounter other conspecifics that might steal or eat the egg. But being far away also means that she’s fasting.”

“Which would explain Rhaegal’s emancipated look.”

“Exactly. As for the dragons returning to Dany one at a time, it’s most likely that they are taking turns keeping the egg warm.”

Sansa let out a long sigh of surprise. “I can’t believe they’ll be another dragon. The Queen is going to be thrilled.”

“I do hope so. I wonder if they will hatch the egg themselves, or deliver the egg to their mother.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes dragons will sit on the egg themselves for a year before it hatches. Some dragons that were reportedly close with their Targaryen masters would bring the egg to them as a gift. The master would then keep a fire burning for the egg until it hatched. It was said to be the greatest sign of trust between dragon and rider. It was incredibly rare, though.”

“I can’t imagine a stronger bond between human and dragon than Daenerys and her children.”

“Me either.”

“This is good news.”

“Hopefully I’ll be back in her good graces having discovered it as well.”

Sansa’s eyes fell to the table, going quiet. She didn’t realize he was thinking about returning to the Queen of Essos’s service.

Tyrion must have realized her interpretation of her statement. “I don’t want to leave, Sansa” he corrected her false assumption, barely audible before his voice recovered. “But we both know how much better it is to be on Daenerys’s good side.”

She nodded in response, trying not to be visibly relieved.

When he finished writing the scroll, he stood up. “I’m going to give this to a raven now, and then I’ll be back.” His gaze lingered for a moment before turning down the stairs.

Sansa let out a long sigh when she heard the door creak close.   
After Tyrion had left, Sansa had found herself unable to focus on her book. A thought nagged in the back of her mind the entire time – what would happen that night? Would she fall asleep and have another nightmare? Would he walk her back like always? Would she be able to resist inviting him again, asking for the comfort of his presence? Deep down, she knew that she wouldn’t be able to.

If she didn’t fall asleep in the little library loft, she wouldn’t be tempted to ask him. If he wasn’t walking her back to the keep, he couldn’t cross the threshold of the door, pull back the furs and stay the night.

So she left, a lump in her throat the entire time she walked back to her chambers. She dragged her feet, her body putting up a fight to not turn back around.

\--------  
  
Tyrion was trying very hard to ignore his mind’s constant reminders of how silky Sansa’s hair was as his fingers ran through it, and the gentle slope of her spine as it curled against him. The more he tried to forget about it, the more his mind supplied. Since he’d been appointed Hand, he had become well versed in reigning in his growing feelings for Sansa. But today it had been particularly hard to focus - his mind kept straying to the previous night, plus she still didn’t seem herself.

She’d been quiet and reserved, but not in her icy stoicism way. Her eyes had been empty as if she was far away today. The nightmare must have been quite terrible to be so long-lasting, Tyrion assumed. _See, she doesn’t want you_. The thoughts crept in. S _he just wanted you to stay because you were there, not because you mean anything more to her than a friend or a Hand._

Even though she had explicitly asked him to stay over, he didn’t want their intimacy to scare her away from him. He would rather her be in his life as a friend and Queen than try for something more and lose her entirely. So today he had tried to be his usual self, as normal as possible so she could work through whatever was upsetting her without fearing she’d done anything wrong or changed anything by asking him to stay.

He re-entered the library and climbed up the swirling staircase.

But no torch was lit at the top, nor was any red hair in sight. From the lofted seating area, he peered down to see if there was any light in the rest of the library. No. Sansa had left.

He continued with his work. He had reading for tomorrow still, and the lack of her companionship didn’t warrant it going undone. But as he poured over the pages, an uncomfortable lingering thought echoed in his head. She hadn’t waited up for him. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d left without saying goodbye, without them walking each other to their chambers.

He found a stopping point in his novel and set it aside with a feather to mark his place. The solitude he felt walking back to the keep was overwhelming.


	12. XII

“So now you’re avoiding everyone, not just me?”

Sansa sat on a log under the Godswood tree. She’d heard the footfalls approaching in the snow but had hoped that whoever was nearing would silently respect the place of worship and her solitude. She was in no such luck, as Tyrion’s deep voice cut through the silence.

She subtly straightened her back, donning her icy façade, as he closed the gap between them and took a seat next to her on the log. She could feel his eyes searching her face, but she just kept her eyes on a rock peeking out from the thick blanket of snow that covered the ground, her face blank.

“Sansa.” His voice was steady, strong, but lacked the intimidation that men often injected into their speech.

She stayed quiet but closed her eyes. She wasn’t ready to have a conversation. She still hadn’t sorted out her feelings.

“Look at me.”

She exhaled through her nose, resisting the urge to crease her brow in pain. Slowly, she raised her head and looked up. She was afraid she’d see hatred in his eyes, hurt that had been melded into anger over time, but she only found a soft crease of concern.

“It’s been five days.”

She nodded, breaking away from his eyes again. She could have stayed and stared into the swirls of blue, but there were consequences of that that she couldn’t wrap her head around yet.

She’d been avoiding him. They saw each other in meetings, but she’d come late and leave early, assigned delegates to update on restoration progress instead of seeing to them herself. She’d brought books from the library to her chambers, and hadn’t stepped inside the tower since.

Evading his presence started just as a way to avoid the temptation of inviting him into her room at night once more, but as the time passed, her emotions had become a skein of yarn that tangled beyond comprehension. The more she avoided him, the more she missed his presence. The more she missed his presence, the harder it was to deny to herself that he was just her Hand. Those escalating feelings scared her tremendously and knowing he did not reciprocate whatever feelings she had pushed her to circumvent further seeing him. Part of her wondered if her absence hurt him, but the other part knew that he was simply indifferent, just as he had been after they’d shared a bed.

She remained silent. She didn’t know how to start. Or even what he wanted. Perhaps she was presumptuous to assume that he had even come to confront her regarding their friendship. Maybe he was there to nag her about how long it’s been since she’d been in the library to prepare for meetings.

“I miss you. I don’t know what I did wrong or how to fix it.”

His voice was small but honest and sincere. He did not come to be anything but direct with her. But she could not return the favor as she continued to evade giving a response. She kept her head down, studying the snow.

Several moments passed in silence, Sansa concentrating on aligning her breath to the rhythm of his steady and sure inhalations.

“If I crossed a line before, I apologize. I was only trying to help.”

She could feel her resolve begin to crumble. He was only trying to help. _He was doing his duty, doing what you asked of him not because he cared but because he was told to do so by his Queen._

She could feel her body warm, her anxiety growing as negative thoughts continued to race through her mind. She tried to quell the growing unease in her body, concentrating on slow, deep breaths.

She wanted to say something. The tip of her tongue burned with a desire to form words, sentences, stories. She wanted to tell him that he didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, she was terrified of how nice it was that he’d stayed with her. She wanted to tell him that he was one of the only people who made her feel so safe that she wanted him to hold her as he had. She wanted to tell him how hurt his indifference to their intimate moment made her feel like she was still alone, even in their shared experience. She wanted to say to him that she’d avoided him because she doesn’t think that if she said any of these things, he’d look at her the same. After all, he hadn’t wanted a romantic relationship with her in King’s Landing when she was pure, why would he want her now that she’s been through a physical and mental battlefield, bruised and battered on the other side?

But instead, she held her tongue. Her lips acted as barricades against its embarrassing confessions.   
  
From the corner of her eye, she could see him slowly move his hand towards hers. He ever so gently wrapped his fingers around her palm, her heart racing at the warm contact of his skin. He squeezed once before swiftly letting go.

Tyrion stood up and walked away from the Godswood wordlessly.

As the footfalls of his steps in the snow faded, Sansa could not help the tears that rushed down her cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short but I promise there'll be more soon!


	13. XIII

“One…. Two…. Three…”

It was useless. Trying to count the wolves embroidered above her had never helped Sansa fall asleep, and it wasn’t going to put her mind to rest now. She tossed and turned under the furs, just as she had the first night that Tyrion returned, though that at the time she didn’t know if the North would remain independent. Now, she struggled with a question of her sovereignty, and if that solitude felt more like freedom or being alone in the world.

She took the rest of the afternoon off from her Queenly duties after her time in the Godswood. She told her handmaidens that she felt under the weather, and they fussed appropriately, though she knew her physical illness was just a manifestation of her mental state.

She’d felt sick to her stomach listening to Tyrion’s footfalls step away from her, unable to express her feelings. And maybe because she didn’t know what her feelings really were.

There was hurt, at the way he seemed so unaffected. There was contentment, in the way he’d protected her. There was longing, in the way that she desired to be near him so close once more. There was fear, in the way that she didn’t want to ruin any friendship they’d had. There was panic, in the way that if she did ask more of him, he may ask for something she could not provide in return.

How was she supposed to articulate all of this to him when she didn’t know herself? Instead, she’d remained quiet, but that proved to be the wrong choice, only feeding her tendencies to evade sleep at night.

She swung her legs out from underneath her covers. Her feet hit the brisk cold floor, and she scampered over to the fur rug near her dining table as quickly as she could. Upon the table sat a decanter of wine. _Perhaps wine would allow you to sleep_ , she told herself. _Not too much, just enough to help._

She grabbed a golden goblet and hastily picked up the decanter before she could change her mind. The deep red liquid sloshed into the cup, just a bit more than she intended. _It’s fine_ , she thought. _It’s just a little bit more than usual. Tyrion drinks flagons worth all the time, one full glass is nothing in comparison._  

As she sat at the table, she gulped down the wine until she could see just a tiny pool of remaining drops in the bottom. It was dry on her tongue and burned as it went down, but a relaxation settled over her muscles.

Maybe that feeling wasn’t the wine itself, but comfort in the idea that she’d done something to help herself. Either way, she was feeling a little better. Her limbs were loose. Each breath she took no longer felt like she was wearing a corset, even when she wasn’t.

She poured herself just one more glass.

_Tyrion would have been able to tell me the specific kind of wine this was. Where it came from. If it was even good in comparison to others. He’d tell a funny story about one time he’d had a bit too much. One of the many times he had too much. He’d peer over his cup and look at me with those bright blue eyes. His blue eyes that looked like the swirling water as it crashed against the rocks of King’s Landing’s shores. Sometimes they sparkled like when the sunlight hits the water in just the right way. When was the last time that they sparkled? Sparkled. Not in the Great Hall. No. No his eyes have been grey in the Great Hall lately. The last time they sparkled? Oh. When he woke up in her bed. When his golden hair brushed her skin. Soft. Why can’t he always sparkle? Did they do that in King’s Landing before? Not on our wedding night, no. Before the Blackwater! Yes. When I told him that I prayed for his safe return. That sparkle is the same sparkle as now. Or then. Or before. He had that look in his eye in the crypts too. In the firelight. Is it a sparkle? Or a softness? Or an excitement? What’s the name of that sparkle? Maybe we don’t have a word for it. Maybe we do. Tyrion would know. Tyrion would know what was that is. I could ask him. Yes, I will._

Sansa lifted her cup high, getting out each last drop before she stood up. The edges of her vision blurred and her limbs felt limp and languid. She blinked, trying to focus on a single point on the door. She walked forward, only stumbling a little. _She wasn’t that drunk, no. She stumbled all the time, she was fine._

She opened the door, and it swung open far more forcefully than she intended. She vaguely registered that the door has creaked, and shut loudly behind her. _It_ _was fine_. She walked down the hall of the Great Keep, one hand on the wall to keep her balance. Her feet were cold. _Why were they cold?_ _Oh_. She wasn’t wearing any shoes. That was fine. Without hesitation she reached the chamber that belonged to her Hand and knocked loudly.

A logical thought broke through the haze of her mind. W _hat if he wasn’t there? What if he was with someone else?_ A flash of cold ran through her body, and this wasn’t the stone beneath her feet anymore.

But before that question could be answered, the door creaked open.


	14. XVI

Tyrion had awoken suddenly at the loud bang of a door slamming down the hall. The sound had startled him from his dreams, and he lay listening to find out what had awoken him. He could faintly make out footsteps coming towards him, and his suspicions were confirmed when there was a quick rap on his door. 

Unless something were drastically wrong, no maiden would knock so late. Even a message from Daenerys would usually be held until first thing the next day. 

He cautiously opened the door, curious of his late-night visitor. 

As he opened the door, Sansa took several clumsy steps inside, crossing his room until she reached his dining table and plopped into the chair. 

He widened his eyes and blinked rapidly in response. He froze, unsure what was going on or why the woman who hadn’t talked to him all week had barged into his chambers so late at night.

He wasn’t entirely dressed, just soft sleeping trousers and a light tunic. Sansa wore the same nightgown she did when he had fallen asleep on the window seat, an incredibly light fabric that was cut low enough that her collarbones peeked from the soft linen. As he took in the sight of her, suddenly right in front of him, he could see her languid, uncoordinated movements. Her eyes were glassy; the sharpness sucked out of them. 

Sansa Stark was very drunk and in his bedroom. 

“Sansa,” Tyrion said cautiously. 

“Tyrion” She slurred the first syllable. “Tyrion. What’s the word for that thing?” 

He crossed over to see in the other chair across from her. He watched her with intent; afraid she’d be sick or pass out. He realized he hadn’t ever seen her so affected by alcohol. She never did anything but sip a single glass. 

“What thing?” He replied. 

“The thing.” She furrowed her brows in concentration. Her head bobbed. “The thing you do with your eyes.” 

Tyrion looked at her with utter confusion. She wasn’t making any sense, and he could foresee how poorly this could go in a very short amount of time. 

“I’m not sure, Sansa. Maybe you should go back to sleep.” 

“Can’t sleep. I don’t know how to feel.” 

“Is that why you had some wine?” He asked, much like one would speak to a child. 

“How did you know? I had only a little!” 

He smiled. “A wild guess. How much did you have, Sansa?” 

“Just two glasses!” 

“Did you eat anything?” 

“No.” Puzzlement crossed her face as if he was silly even to ask that before she turned her attention to his decanter on the table. 

“Ah, no. Let’s not have any more,” He said, moving it out of her reach. “How about you try to sleep again, perhaps the wine you’ve already had will make it easier?” 

“Maybe.” But she didn’t make a move to leave; she just locked eyes on him. Looking at her, he realized how long it had been since he’d seen her long lashes flutter. He’d lived without seeing her for so many years, but it felt like it had been just as long in the past five days. He’d grown so spoiled being able to be near her all the time, that even a short break from each other had seemed like an eternity. He softly smiled, not wanting to be the one to break the contact. 

“That. What’s that called?” 

He blinked, confused. 

“What?”

“Sparkle.” She slurred. 

She wasn’t making sense again, and he became painfully aware that she was not here because of any sober decision. 

“Come on, Your Grace.” He said, trying to maintain some order here before things escalated to a point. 

She huffed. “’ Mm Not ‘Your Grace’” 

“You are my Queen, so yes, you are.” Tyrion calmly replied. Who would have guessed Sansa turned into a sullen toddler while drunk? 

“You used to say ‘My Lady.’” 

“Yes, Sansa. When you were a Lady, now you are a Queen.” 

“I could be your lady again. Your lady.” 

Tyrion knew that Sansa was not thinking straight, was not making much sense, but his heart beat fast all the same at the indication she was his. 

“But maybe it wouldn’t matter to you then either” her words slowed and slurred, and she propped her elbow up on the table, resting the side of her face in her hands, gently closing her eyes. Tyrion watched as she took a deep breath, and her lips opened slightly. 

He wanted nothing more than to dissect that statement for its intended meaning, but he didn’t have time, and she clearly didn’t have the energy. 

“No… No, Sansa. You can’t sleep there.” She whined in response but made no movement still. 

Tyrion hopped up and crossed over to her side of the table. He grabbed her upper arm and gently pulled until she finally got up. 

“Come on, I’ll escort you back to your own room. You’ll sleep better there.” 

“No. Can’t.”

“I promise you’ll sleep fine. Come on.” 

After quite a bit of prodding, especially difficult considering her height and sheer willpower, he scurried her across the hall and opened the door to her chambers. 

He walked her over to the side with the furs pooled at the bottom of the bed, smoothed them out and pulled them back for her. 

“Sleep, my lady.” 

She crawled into bed and lay on her side, facing him as he stood at the edge. 

“Stay?” All the sounds blurred together, but the meaning shone through. He looked at her, so desperately wanted to take her up on it. He wanted to feel the warmth of her skin against his, the soft curves of her body enveloped in his own once more. It seemed all so wonderful if he could caress her red hair and wake up beside her. But fulfilling her request the last time had only resulted in the silence between them, and he knew he had to decline. 

“No, Sansa.” He said softly. 

She furrowed her brow, eyes still closed. “I don’t matter to you.” 

He laughed at the ridiculousness of her statement. “Don’t be silly, Sansa.” 

“’M not silly. I’m your Queen, but that’s it.” 

His heart sank with her every word. How could she think that when he’d tried to talk to her even in her silence? How could she believe that when he’d asked over and over what she wanted and what she was comfortable with? How had it not been painfully apparent to her that he cared for her far more than any Hand and his Queen? 

“That’s not true. You matter so much to me.” He choked out. “That’s why I can’t stay. I don’t want to lose you.” 

She made a soft sound of disagreement, but her face relaxed, and her breaths were drawn out. She had fallen asleep in front of him. 

He took a long look at her, peaceful in her resting state. He wasn’t sure what to make of her statements, so he took one last look at her before sneaking out of her chambers and back into his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments! They make my day! Trying to post another update soon!


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